He’d done what Milly asked him to without hesitation, unable to stop his body from reacting to her commands. When they reached the mineshaft, there were still remnants of police tape, and he could smell the blood and viscera under the snow as if it were fresh and not months old.
“Come now, don’t fight this,” Milly said. “In the end, this is better. You have to trust me.”
Of course, he couldn’t so much as utter a god-blasted grunt without her giving him a command to speak. Witch or not, Rylee’s best friend or not, he’d rip her throat out the second the torc was off. She commanded him to slip on a repelling harness and pick her up, which he did; and then they went over the edge of the shaft and slid into the darkness.
“Careful now,” Milly said, her voice close to his ear. “You aren’t just carrying my life in your hands, but one other too.”
He could flick his eyes over to hers, and though there was little light he had no problem seeing the glint there. The glow of happiness.
No. Fucking. Way.
*-*-*-*
Finally, after what seemed like hours of arguing, Denning let me and Agent Valley go. With nearly free rein. Will was to stick with me at all times, and Officer Smith was to be our third. That stuck in my craw like a sideways fishbone.
“Another werewolf is not a good idea,” I hissed at Agent Valley as we strode through the precinct to the area that had been set aside for us.
“I couldn’t get him to back down,” Agent Valley snapped back at me, and then smoothed out his hair. “As it was, I could barely get him to agree to you having the lead on this.”
Though it galled me, I knew he’d done the best he could. “Yeah, thanks for that.”
Flipping a stack of files on a desk, he pointed to the chair. “Sit, read. Figure this the fuck out, Adamson. And when you’re ready to Track the kids, let us know. But the last thing you are to do is go out on your own. Got it?”
Lips pursed tight, I gave him a half nod. I wanted to Track the kids now, by myself, and get the job done. Then I could go after Berget. Letting out a deep breath, I flopped into the squeaky chair and flipped open the first file. None of the information was new, just a rehashing of the same stuff I’d already read: the kids, their ages, parents and siblings. Nothing new. Was this what being a part of the FBI was about? Pushing paper around until your eyes crossed and you hoped all to hell and back that you caught something? Ugh. I’d made the right choice; I could never do this on a regular basis. A snore from Alex at my feet made me glance down. He wasn’t the only one feeling the twist from the jet lag. Stifling a yawn, I put my head down on my desk and covered my hair with my hands. Gods, why not just go after the kids now, get it done?
Because you need to know what you’re dealing with. And you need to know why the kids are being snatched so you can stop it and keep it from happening again. O’Shea’s voice seemed to echo in my head. Damn him, even when he wasn’t here he was right.
A hand touched my shoulder and I flinched. I was too tired to even keep my guard up. Not a good sign.
Will bent over me with a cup of coffee. “Jack never liked coffee, but I thought maybe you’d want some?”
“No.” I ran my hands through my hair. “I need to sleep.”
“Right. I can take you to where you’re staying. Just down the street in a basement suite.”
Again, he led the way, me only half awake behind him. Alex stumbled along too. Though only late afternoon here, we’d left yesterday, and at home it was the middle of the night; I’d been up way too long.
Rain pattered down around us, dark grey clouds pressing in from above, giving me the impression of endless grey. Two blocks down from the precinct, Will paused. “Here’s your key, go right in. I believe all your weapons were brought here by Agent Valley.” He handed me the key and a card. “That’s my number on there, call me when you get up and we can get started first thing in the morning.”
I nodded, took the key, mumbled “thanks” and opened the door. The inside was dim, but the walls were painted a cheery blue that matched the curtains, carpet and furniture. Matchy, matchy—how vomit inducing. Locking the door behind me, I propped a chair under the handle. Call me paranoid, but if Faris wanted me on his team, I had no doubt I’d be paid a visit sometime soon.
My weapons bag was still locked and I slid a small key out of my pocket. Opening up the hard-backed case, I took a quick stock of my weapons. I’d mostly brought blades in various sizes, my two swords being foremost amongst those. Silver threaded whip, cuffs, throwing knives, flak jacket, and my newest hobby, full size cross bow and bolts. I wasn’t one-hundred percent that it would work, it might be too mechanical, but my test shoots had been clean, so I was going to give it a try. There were more than a few bad asses out there I’d like to kill at a distance. And it would keep my dry cleaning bill down.
With a deep sigh I pulled one sword free and started through the forms of fighting Giselle had taught me, mostly Muay Thai. Block, parry, thrust, elbows, knees, fist and feet. Over and over until my body hummed with the movements. Then I picked up the second sword and worked my way through a few more imaginary opponents. Sweating, I slid out of my leather jacket and dropped to the floor, forcing myself through sit-ups, push-ups and a variety of other strength training exercises. Sure I was exhausted, but I had to be fit, ready to go after the kids that I was Tracking. Because no matter that I had some supernatural abilities, I was no fucking Superwoman. I could be hurt and killed as easily as anyone else. That was one lesson I was reminded of on almost every salvage, picking up new scars to add to the history already written on my body with blades, teeth and claws.
Finally done with my routine, I hopped in the shower for a quick wash. Stepping back into the main room, I dressed in clean clothes, and then picked up one sword and slid it under my pillows. I left the sheath on the sword. The edge of it was spelled to cut deep, but I’d slept with my weapons more than once and had learned the hard way to keep the sheath on unless I was fighting or practicing. I climbed into bed, pulled the blue comforter up to my chin, and let out a deep sigh. Exhausted, the last thing I did was Track Berget. Her energy and excitement flowed through me. She was happy, that at least was good. Whoever had taken her had taken good care of her. There was no fear in her at all.
A smile swept across my lips; it wouldn’t be long and I’d finally have my sister back. Closing my eyes, I sunk into the world of sleep.
11
The next morning did not dawn bright and cheery. A freaking cloud-ridden, storm-filled sky greeted me and Alex as we stepped out of our blue suite. The light drizzle dampened my hair to my head, and within minutes my face dripped water like I was standing under a faucet. Alex seemed happy though, sniffing the air and yanking on the leash to pull me along, oblivious to the bad weather with his thick coat and naturally happy attitude.
“Ease up, buddy,” I grumbled. I’d slept like the dead, but I still had a hard time waking up, feeling as though my limbs were tied down with weights. Shit, this jet lag business was a bitch.
“Alex hungry.”
“When we get to the station. And stop talking,” I said just as we passed an older couple walking with their umbrella’s held high. The woman pointedly kept her gaze averted, but the man had no problem giving me a grumpy look. I glared back at him. Good, I didn’t particularly feel like being nice anyway.
The station was quiet, with only a few officers at their desks when we got there. I weaved my way through the main room to the desk I’d been assigned the day before and sat down. Alex whimpered at my feet.
Pointing to his belly he whispered, “Alex really, really hungry. Going to die!”
On cue, his stomach let out a rolling grumble.
“You have to wait for Will.”
Throwing himself to his belly, his limbs splayed out as if he were a trophy rug, he said, “Stupid late kitty.”
Laughing to myself, I pulled the files out and started to go through them, my eyes taking everything in, my head
listening to O’Shea’s voice.
Check again. Something small, something only you would notice. That’s what you’re looking for.
I was halfway through my next go round with the files when Will showed up, fast food in hand.
Alex shot up to stand on his back feet, making gimme gestures with his claws. Will tossed him a bag and the werewolf dropped down, chowing the greasy food with gusto.
“And you didn’t call me because . . .?” Will handed me a can of orange juice and a bagel with cream cheese.
Spreading the cream cheese in a thick layer, I took a bite of the bagel, speaking around the mouthful. “Figured you would be at work. Thanks for breakfast.”
Will smiled. “You’re welcome. Now, what can I do to help?”
I handed him the half of the files I’d gone through twice already. “Read, find similarities, or do whatever it is that cops do to break cases.”
He took the files and we got down to work. Boring, pointless, ridiculous work that made me want to scream in frustration. I Tracked Berget while I worked, felt her emotions skim along mine. She was happy, healthy, her threads were strong and vibrant. How would our reunion be? Would she be happy then? Or was she happy in her life as it was? The fear that perhaps she might not want to come back with me hit me between the eyes like an unexpected hammer blow. A possibility I hadn’t considered until that moment. I mean, it’s not like I’d be taking her back to a happy family unit. Our world had been destroyed when she’d gone missing . . . there was a very good chance she had a better life where she was than if she came back with me. Fuck it all to hell.
Jerking to my feet, I gripped the edge of the desk, the room seeming to sway as I struggled to get in a good breath. “I’ve got to go for a walk, get some fresh air,” I said, not liking the way my voice sounded.
Breathy and out of control, clamping down on my emotions, I motioned for Alex to stay behind. Will could look after him for a few minutes; I needed to be alone.
Head down, I burst out onto the sidewalk, gulping the cool air, the now sleeting half-rain, half-snow coursing down my cheeks. The moisture quickly turned from just wet to miniature ice crystals that stabbed at me. My steps were silent on the wet pavement as I walked, my brain rushing around the idea that Berget might be happier without me, without her family. Why did that have to hit me now? Shit, this was not the time to be freaking out.
“Come on, Rylee, pull it together,” I said softly. I stepped onto a grassy embankment, working my way to a long stone and wrought iron fence. Finding handholds, I climbed over, and dropped on the other side without a sound. Blinking, I wiped rain from my eyes and took a sharp breath.
The cemetery was old, as in older than anything I’d ever been in before. In the far distance I could see a church, the bell tolling the hour, and closer was a caretaker’s hut. Picking my way around the graves, the scent of mold and death greeted me, curled around my senses and brought the smell seeping from my memories.
It smelled just like the boiler room, exactly like what the supernatural left behind after snatching Johnny. There was a short list of supernaturals who frequented graveyards and only one I knew of strong enough to make children disappear as they were. And no, it wasn’t a vampire. Contrary to popular fiction, vampires aren’t much into graveyards and coffins.
The problem was, even I didn’t know much about this particular supernatural I was suspecting, so if I was right, I was going to be in for some surprises.
Breaking into a jog, I was at the caretaker’s hut in no time, banging on the door. Suspicions were all I had, but if I was right, I at least knew what we were dealing with when it came to the kidnapper. Or at least it was a start.
“Hello? Anyone home?” I banged my fist on the door again, rattling the thin wood on its hinges.
A muffled voice shouted out at me. “Bloody hell, give me a minute to get me pants on!”
I stepped back as the door opened, an older man with long grey hair and squinting eyes peeking out at me.
“What you want? A burial?” He shooed at me with his hands, “Go to the church, they do the arranging of burials for you. I just dig the hole.”
He started to close the door and I put my hand on it, stopping him. “No, I’d like to ask you a question. Do you get many grave robbers here?”
His eyebrows shot into his hairline and I thought perhaps I’d been wrong. Staring at me, he shook his head. Damn it, I’d thought I’d been on to something. Looked like I was back to square one.
I turned to walk away when his voice stopped me.
“How did you know?”
I spun around. “Know what?”
“About the graves that have been disturbed. Robbed isn’t quite the right word for what happened here.”
“Will you tell me about them, the disturbances?” Fingers crossed, this could be the break I needed.
He beckoned me in. “No one would take me seriously, just brushed me off like I was a crazy old coot.”
I followed him into his hut, the heat from an antique pot belly stove taking the chill out of the air.
“I’m the caretaker here. Name’s Harold. Have a seat.” He pointed to a solidly built chair.
l lowered myself into it. “I’m Rylee.”
“Good name. Warrior name, I think,” he mumbled as he bent and rifled through a box next to the stove. “Was going to burn these papers, just never got around to it.”
With an almost casual toss, he flopped a stack of papers onto the table in front of me.
Each paper contained a number, name and date, along with pictures in many cases. There were over a hundred sheets.
Harold pointed at the paper on top. “That number there designates the grave, the name of the deceased and the date the grave was disturbed.”
“Why do you have all these? I mean, I understand you’re the caretaker, but this is . . . .” I looked at the stack of pages, knowing without counting that there were a lot. More than just keeping records. “Extremely detailed.”
Giving me a smile, he looked over my shoulder, as if seeing things that weren’t really there. “My pa was a details kind of man. Taught me the importance of keeping things until they were no longer needed. If you’d been a day or so later, might be that all these would be gone.”
I flipped through the pages quickly, staring at the few pictures that Harold had pinned to the pages. Each grave looked not as if it had been dug up, but more like it had been dug out. Like whatever had been in the grave had clawed its way to the surface.
Gripping the paper, a shot of excitement zipped through me. “Can you show me some of these graves?”
Harold bobbed his head, and then grabbed his coat. “But you know, they stopped—all the grave robberies stopped. Haven’t had one in, oh, about—”
I finished it for him. “The last two years?”
Blinking his squinty eyes of indiscriminate colour up at me, he smiled. “Yup, that’s right on the mark. You a bobby?”
Staring at him blankly seemed to get my point across that I had no idea what he was talking about. He cleared his throat and clarified. “A police officer?”
“Private investigator,” I answered without hesitation.
“Ah, I see. Makes sense, the police, they’re too busy to be bothered with grave robberies. Too busy by far.”
He grabbed two umbrellas and handed me one. But the weather wasn’t bothering me anymore. Shit, this was why O’Shea liked to ask questions. Because when the puzzle pieces came together it was a freaking high like no other!
We made our way around the graveyard, Harold pointing out the graves that had been disturbed. All of them were children, all under five years old, with the exception of one—the oldest grave.
From close to a hundred years ago, the kid was the oldest of the group as well. Twelve years old, a girl, and—I bent to read the tombstone better—she died of the wasting disease.
Brittany Mariana Tolvay. Nothing else but her name and the dates. No, that wasn’t true. I bent d
own and brushed the grass back from the base, the words faded with age and weather, but I could read them still.
Beloved daughter. Cleansed by fire in the hands of God. Gone for but a moment.
“This one was dug out?” I pointed at it, not sure if what I was seeing fit or not.
Harold stepped forward. “That one there is strange, the only one where it looked like a proper grave robbing. Someone trying to get in.”
But if the kid’s body had been burned, there wouldn’t have been anything left to steal. This was the only one that didn’t fit with the others. This was the starting point.
I shook myself. No, what I was seeing confirmed my suspicions. I had some proof, and I was ready to rumble. The asshole stealing kids from their deathbeds was about to get a nasty surprise on his doorstep.
I saw Harold back to his hut, thanked him for his help and turned to go, papers tucked inside my jacket; but something pulled at me, like string tied around my waist, I felt it vibrate under my skin.
Standing quietly, I let my senses guide me. Someone was throwing around a lot of power, so much so that even my miniscule abilities with detection were picking it up. The church bells tolled and I frowned. The time was wrong for the bells to be tolling. Hell, it was twenty-two minutes passed the hour, not even close. And churches were, if nothing else, particular about their rituals.
Setting out once more in a brisk walk, I made my way to the church, feeling the power of whoever it was grow the closer I got. Like a wash of home I felt the hum of magic and knew it was a witch battling it out in the church. For one brief second, I wondered if it was Milly. But no, whoever this was throwing power around was stronger even than Milly; besides Milly was an ocean away, it wouldn’t be her.
The bells tolled again, and this close, the sound rumbled through my chest. Leaning up against the huge wooden doors, I pressed my ear tight against them. Chanting, a lot of chanting. My skin crawled in remembrance. The last time I’d been on the other side of a set of doors and chanting we’d almost lost a little girl, India in fact, to a serious demon possession.
Raising Innocence: A Rylee Adamson Novel (Book 3) Page 9